


Sugar and Spice

by ofhuntersandmen



Series: Lips as Sweet as Candy [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Baking, Canon Divergence, Christmas, Fallen Castiel, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Human Castiel, M/M, Pre-S9, WIP, Work In Progress, gingerbread
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-02-13 02:03:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2132955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofhuntersandmen/pseuds/ofhuntersandmen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean finds out that Castiel is a gingerbread fiend. Canon Divergence from post-8x23.</p><p>Christmas fic for <a href="http://jenghis-khan.tumblr.com">Jenny</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Incredible Gingerbread Disappearing Act

Cas is always eating when he returns from a grocery run.  
Dean’s observed this routine so many times now that he expects it; doesn’t think twice about going to let the ex-angel in because he knows Cas won’t have the spare hand to do it himself. The first time he’d heard the faint scrabbling at the door he had thrown it open with gun in hand, ready to waste whatever hellspawn was on the other side. Cas had jumped so violently that the six-pack he had been struggling to hold onto round an open bag of Cheetos slipped from his grasp and smashed on the concrete. The entryway to the bunker still smells faintly of stale beer, and Cas has mouth and arms full every time Dean lets him in after that.

He can’t really blame the guy, though. He knows first-hand what it’s like to go hungry, and Cas had been going hungrier than most. Ever since they’d found him curled up between a couple of dumpsters out back of a diner in Detroit, Cas has attacked every meal sent his way as if it were his last. On that first day Dean had watched him throw up on the way back to Kansas, stomach unused to the weight of 2 bacon cheeseburgers and 3 portions of fries.

Now, Cas’s appetite is truly insatiable. Dean finds him milling about the kitchen more often than not, trying to find something to eat that doesn’t involve cooking. This tends to result in some kind of argument between the two of them, where Dean tries to explain exactly why Cas can’t just eat their entire supply of cereal straight out the box, and during which Cas steadily ignores him as he munches on Kevin’s favourite breakfast food.

A week before Christmas Dean lets Cas back into the bunker as usual, but before he can saunter off to the library Cas is there, shoving a brown bag into his arms in order to free up the hand now delving into an already open box of cookies shaped like Christmas trees.

"Hey, wha- Cas, what are you  _doing!_?” Dean instinctively turns away as his best friend’s hand swings towards his face, only to find that Cas is holding out one of the tree-cookies. Hell, it’s even got icing decorations, a sugary star piped onto the top.

Cas mumbles around his mouthful, something about having to try what he found in the bakery aisle when he went to get the pie (because, unlike Sam, Cas  _always_ remembers the pie), and shakes the cookie in an invitation for Dean to try it. Dean shifts the bag to rest under one arm as he takes the offering, biting into the top half of the tree in an effort to appease Cas. The dude’s practically vibrating with excitement as he waits, wide-eyed, for a reaction. His cheeks are still stuffed like a hamster’s, and Dean tries not to think about how adorable that is as he chews.

It’s gingerbread. Dean’s no expert, but yeah, it’s good- really good. He says as much and watches his friend’s face light up like fucking Times Square, Cas grinning as much as is possible with a mouth full of gingerbread. They take the rest of the groceries into the kitchen and put them away, which is when Dean discovers the 3 extra boxes of Christmas cookies Cas has bought, and well, if something inside him warms at that, then nobody needs to know.

Cas blasts his way through all of the gingerbread within twenty-four hours. Dean has no idea how he does it, but by the next evening Cas is picking sourly at the last empty container. There’s pretty thick snow outside now and nobody’s particularly forthcoming to venture outside the bunker, or even a few feet from the fire Sam’s built in the hearth, so Castiel is left to mope about and scowl at his shortage of baked goods until Dean finally takes pity on him.

He’s never made gingerbread before, has no idea how to- he asks Kevin on one of his rare breaks from the Godstone, and the kid bursts out laughing at what he thinks is a joke before he realizes Dean’s serious.

"I don’t even wanna know what kind of whacked-out Christmases you guys have been having before now. Anyways, what the  _hell_  would you wanna make gingerbread for? I mean, you’re not exactly Betty Crock-“

"Shut up." Dean’s comebacks have never been stellar. "Do you know how to make it or not?

"Not. My mom used to make all the gingerbread at Christmas. She never let anyone else do it, always said…" There’s a pause as Kevin drifts off mid-sentence, apparently fascinated with the hangnail on one of his fingers. "But I can Google it, if you want."

Dean makes a note to get Kevin something really fucking awesome for Christmas.

A few minutes later, recipe in hand, Dean approaches the couch where Cas has buried himself under a mountain of blankets. Apparently, this being Cas’s first winter as a human means he doesn’t handle cold nearly as well as the others; he’s had to borrow a good few of Sam’s sweaters to put on over his own, and when Cas peeks his head out from inside his mound, hair sticking up wildly, Dean recognizes one of his own henleys which he’s sure he never even lent out.

"You been stealing my clothes now, Cas?" He gestures to the shirt peeking out over the neckline of Sam’s far too-big sweater.  
"I was cold," Cas growls at him, voice thick with sleep. Dean’s entrance into the room must have woken him; he now rubs his eyes as he sits up. "And my other sweaters needed washing. Sam said they were starting to smell; I hope you don’t mind."

"Hey, don’t sweat it, it’s fine. Just… give it back when you’re done." Dean doesn’t want to start thinking about Cas wearing his clothes any more than is strictly necessary, for fear he’ll get attached to the idea. "Anyway, I got no clue how you made it through all that gingerbread so fast, but Sammy thought we should put you out of your misery… So I figured we could make some more, y’know, for Christmas, if- if you wanted. Besides, the brooding thing is pretty freaking tragi-"

"Yes." It’s a tone that holds enough sincerity to raise Dean’s eyes from their study of the floorboards, but when he looks up Cas is smiling, small and soft. "Yes, Dean, I’d like that very much."


	2. Ginger Snaps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But, grace or no grace, the staring is just as intense, and Dean can still feel himself being pulled apart under Castiel’s gaze. There’s a heat rising from somewhere deep in his gut; he beats it back down. His hands only shake a little when kneading the dough.

It’s a stroke of luck that they have everything the recipe needs, even the ginger; according to Sam there’s lore on the stuff and it’s always handy to keep plenty of it about. “The Pagans used spices like ginger to enhance their spellwork,” he explains, tossing a glass jar full of powder to his brother. “It’s supposed make the magic more powerful, especially spells to do with love or success. The Men of Letters used to have a huge supply of ingredients for healing magic, too- when we got here I thought it’d be a good call to stock them all up again. There’s all kinds of stuff in here now.” He’s smiling as he turns from the shelves to look at Dean. “You need anything else?”

"Nah, I think we’re good." This is the best he’s seen Sam in a long time. Hell, it’s been years since his little brother was this happy, and Dean’s grateful for it. As the weight of the trials had slowly lifted from his shoulders, Sam had been on the verge of death once again; Dean’s gut reaction had been to head straight for the ER, despite the knowledge that no doctor could offer a solution. The sight of his broken brother in a hospital bed isn’t exactly unknown to him, but it never gets any easier to bear, either. Dean had felt the all-too familiar surge of guilt as it had broken against his ribcage, sickly and heavy and churning his stomach, a lifetime of failures threatening to choke him on every ragged intake of breath.

He had thanked a divinity he did not believe in -would never believe in- when he’d gotten the call from Kevin. When they found the cure written in the Demon Tablet.

Now though, Sam is truly embracing the life as a Man of Letters. Sure, he’s still heading out on hunts here and there, sitting shotgun and bitching about Dean’s motel room etiquette, but it had become clear that the archives of the bunker were his true calling. He had even taken on the duty of running phones, offering advice to any hunters who needed to once-over the lore on Rugarus or learn a new set of sigils to bring into play. It’s ideal for him, and although Dean does miss having him around on the road, he isn’t about to complain.

He offers Sam a nod of thanks as he heads back to the kitchen with the ginger, smiling to himself as he thinks over their new life in the bunker. When he gets there, however, he walks in on sheer pandemonium.  
He’d left Cas to measure out the right amounts of flour, sugar and butter for the gingerbread, thinking it was an easy enough instruction for anyone to follow, even an ex-angel who’d never cooked before in his life. Apparently, it seems he’s overestimated the guy. Cas has managed to coat half the kitchen, as well as himself, in a snowy coating of flour; his dark hair is streaked grey, a light dust clinging to his eyelashes and turning his skin pale under the kitchen light. He holds a sieve in one hand and turns to face Dean when he comes in, brow furrowed.

"I’ve realised I’m unfamiliar with the process of sifting."

Dean’s got stomach cramps by the time he stops laughing.

  
———————

  
Cas has somehow still managed to get a decent amount of flour into the bowl, despite the mess. Dean adds the ginger and a few other things, then beats eggs in another bowl whilst he lets Cas rub butter into the dry mix. They work around one another with ease; Dean follows Kevin’s recipe to the word, explaining the method as he goes so that Cas can watch and follow suit with a second batch.

He should be used to the weight of Castiel’s eyes on him by now; knows it should mean nothing to him. He’d half-hoped (selfish bastard that he is) that when Cas returned to him, shivering and starving and all too-human, that there would be no more of  _this_ , and that he would never again find himself spread open as baby blues pored over every rusted splinter of his soul. But, grace or no grace, the staring is just as intense, and Dean can still feel himself being pulled apart under Castiel’s gaze. There’s a heat rising from somewhere deep in his gut; he beats it back down. His hands only shake a little when kneading the dough.

Once they have their set of gingerbread ready for cutting, Dean asks what kind of shapes Cas wants to make. The other man mulls it over for a few seconds before he answers.

"I think I’d like to make a house. I’ve heard that’s it’s… traditional. For humans to make those at Christmas."

  
"Great," Dean pulls a couple of knives from the drawer. "House it is."

  
There’s more than enough dough for them to cut the right shaped pieces to resemble the panels of a house, and there’s still some left over once Dean has placed the tray of house pieces in the oven to cook. Cas has already turned his attention to the large pile of washing up on the counter, and Dean’s about to help him when he has an idea.

Whilst Cas is still running water into the sink, Dean rolls out the remaining dough and starts to cut out shapes with his knife. He makes quick work of it, and the extra gingerbread is in the oven before Cas turns back around to grab a towel to dry with.  
The smell of baking draws Kevin and Sam from the far corners of the bunker to investigate; both are promised a taste of the goods when they’re done and are quickly shooed away again before either one can crack a joke about getting Dean a frilly apron for Christmas.

Once the alarm on Dean’s phone begins to buzz along the counter, he’s actually a little excited to see how his and Cas’s efforts have turned out. From what he can tell, so is Cas; whilst he’s not exactly an open book, Dean can hear a quiet, gravelly humming from over by the sink as Cas finishes up and lets out the dishwater, accompanied by the impatient tapping of socked feet upon the tiles. Dean opens the oven door and brings out Cas’s tray, leaving his own to finish off for an extra few minutes.

The gingerbread looks great, and Cas looks stoked. He’s still covered in flour, but there’s high colour in his cheeks and a fucking ten-foot wide smile on his face that Dean can’t help but reciprocate. They make a bag of icing to use as mortar for putting the house together; it turns out Cas is no better with icing sugar than he is flour when he tips the whole thing straight out into the bowl, causing a great cloud of sugar to blow back into his face. Whilst Cas is busy building, Dean takes out his own cookies and steals a bit of the icing to decorate them, piping details onto the shapes to make them even better than they already are. When he’s done, he heads back over to see how the house is coming along.

Cas has a steady hand and an eye for detail, it seems- he’s piped intricate patterns all over the roof of his perfectly assembled gingerbread house, beautiful designs of snowflakes and stars and trails of rose plants. There are windows and doors, even flower-boxes under the neatly drawn window frames. It’s a work of art, and Dean’s about to say so when he realises Cas is no longer there. He turns to find Cas staring down at his own tray of cookies.

They’re gingerbread men, but Dean has made each of them unique. There are four in total: one is much taller than the others, with long hair piped in icing down the length of his head. Another is smaller, and seemingly normal- save for the shape of its legs, which are bent outward at the knees in rather odd-looking curves. The third and smallest gingerbread man is holding something, a square shape, decorated with haphazard lines in a mock-attempt at the word of God.  
The fourth has large gingerbread wings flared out on either side of his body.

Dean’s stomach drops at the look on Cas’s face as he gently lifts the last gingerbread man from the tray, holding it lightly between his fingers. He wants to say something, wants to apologize- the words stick in his throat. When he manages to speak, it’s as if he’s being strangled.

"Cas, I-"

  
"Dean." Cas’s face is blank as his eyes stay fixed on the gingerbread angel, voice flat. Dean watches as Cas draws ever further back into himself; stumbles over words he can’t force past his lips. Before he gets the chance to start again, he sees fingers tighten around the wings of the angel. A sharp twist later and the angel’s body clatters onto the tray, wings snapped and ground to crumbs by Castiel’s shaking fists.

He’s gone from the kitchen before Dean can take a step towards him.


End file.
